


Two Dumb Boys

by Tentygal



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff without Plot, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentygal/pseuds/Tentygal
Summary: they should just confess to each each other before one of them explodes





	Two Dumb Boys

**Author's Note:**

> i think i've got all the typos, but lmk if you see something that you think needs to be changed!

Koutarou, volleyball player that he is, would liken the feeling of falling in love to the fatigue accompanying a set of sprint drills. It starts innocuously enough with a faint burn in the chest, but suddenly you’re wheezing on your hands and knees, and it seems like everyone else is already miles ahead. So he can’t pinpoint when exactly he’d noticed the softness of Kuroo’s hair, or the way the left side of his mouth quirked up when he was faced with a particularly challenging block--it was something that had caught up with Koutarou over the years. He is certainly, distractingly, aware of it now, and this presents considerably different challenges than a sprint drill.

Currently, he is sitting on the floor of Kuroo’s bedroom, laboring over chem homework. It seems unfair that Kuroo is not only one of the prettiest people Kou knows, but also a certifiable genius, and he tries not to pout as his friend breezes through his own work. It feels pointless to learn this stuff anyway; Kou’s not laboring under any delusions of taking more hard science than strictly required in college. And free time with his best friend is hard enough to come by without cluttering it up with work. He thumps his head gently against the floor, groaning in frustration. This must be what hell feels like: endless, boring, and hot. “Dude, these fuckin’ equations are killing me. How are you so good at this?” And then, in his most pitiful voice: “Tell Akaashi...that I loved him and he was right about everything….Amen.” He crosses his arms across his chest and falls backwards, landing with a soft whump that ruffles, but unfortunately does not dislodge, Kuroo’s papers.

The other boy barely looks up. “I’m pretty sure he already knows that, dude. Also, you probably wouldn’t have so much trouble if your paper wasn’t upside down.”

Koutarou stops pretending to be dead and flips the offending object around, scowling harder. If he’s being honest with himself, it’s not really the chemistry that’s bothering him. Surprisingly, there’s something more painful and thought-consuming in his life than science, and it’s sitting right next to him. _Crushes are weird_ , he muses to himself, throwing a glance at Kuroo under the pretext of shuffling his textbook around.

It’s not that Kou’s never been interested in people, but between volleyball, school, and trying to make sure that Akaashi doesn’t prematurely turn into an old lady, he doesn’t have much time to spare thinking about romance. Even if Kuroo does have the most badass messy hair, and perfect devious smirk, and best taste in cat memes….

It feels like Koutarou is running uphill, and Kuroo is already miles away.

\---

Tetsurou’s not in _love_. He’s not grandiose enough to claim that kind of passion in high school (although he knows people who might be, who might be the subject of this particular line of thought, who might also be sitting on his floor this very instant)--but he’s definitely not above suffering the occasional infatuation.

There was for instance, that memorable time he tried to seduce Karasuno’s captain (a woeful failure best not re-lived), or when he had briefly dated that blocker from Karasuno (really, what happened at training camp stayed at training camp), or even--worst of all--when he had mistakenly made a move on Fukuroudani’s setter (ok, so maybe the third gym was just bad luck)--but all of these pale in comparison to whatever the fuck is happening now. “Whatever the fuck is happening right now” being the massive crush he has on his best friend (well, second-best, because Kenma would kill him if he said otherwise), one Bokuto Koutarou, captain of the Fukuroudani volleyball club, loud-mouth, spiker, trouble-maker, and all around thorn in Kuroo’s side.

Falling is something Tetsurou does a lot. He’s tall, and despite projecting certain feline qualities, not very graceful: a deadly combination. But he doesn’t like falling for people. It’s weird and unnerving. Add into the mix Bokuto’s brash personality, and Tetsurou’s not sure that working up the guts to say something to his friend is even a possibility on the distant horizon, let alone something that’s going to happen in the next three months (i.e. before they graduate and part ways indefinitely). (Well, not indefinitely, because Bokuto would never let that happen.) (But still.)

He turns to a new page in his notebook and begins to doodle idly, waiting for Bokuto to get tired enough of bemoaning the existence of chemistry that they can actually get back to work and finish before the sun goes down. It’s Sunday, and Tetsurou wants to do something fun before they have to endure another week apart at their respective high schools. “Reasons Why I’m a Massive Fucking Sap for Bokuto Kotarou” he titles the page, even though there are about ten similar lists in his head.

1) Stupid fucking hair   
2) Owl eyes   
3) What is going on in his head??   
4) One time he locked himself out of his house and panicked for 20 mins and then found the keys in his pocket   
5) He laughs like a dying Santa Claus  
6) HEY HEY HEY  
7) Really good at hugging   
8) I’m fucking gay

“Kuroo,” Bokuto whines from his place on the floor, dragging out every vowel. “I need a snack.”

“Bro, it’s been--” Tetsurou pauses to check his phone “--literally twenty minutes since we took a break.”

But Bokuto blinks up at Tetsurou petulantly, and they end up making Coke-and-Mentos rockets for the rest of the afternoon. It is, afterall, Tetsurou tells himself stubbornly, loosely related to chemical reactions.

\---

Sitting under the stars behind the third gym three weeks later, sharing a bottle of something Sawamura snuck into camp, Koutarou feels at peace with the world and his friend. It is the last day of camp, the conversation is lazy and liquid, and both he and Kuroo are pleasantly tired after a long day of drills. Their teams are shaping up well for the upcoming interhigh championships, and Koutarou’s excited to face Kuroo on court.

But there are weeks before that happens, and days before weeks, and right now, all he wants to focus on are the minutes that slip by as effortlessly as the tide.

“If owls could talk, what do you think they’d say?”

Kuroo snorts, stretching his legs out in front of himself. “Fuck dude, I don’t know. Probably some stupid shit like, ‘Akaaaaashi, how come you weren’t watching my spike?’ Actually, no, wait. They only make one sound, so it’s all the same, I bet. Talking cats would be way more interesting; I feel like they’re just, like, constantly thinking about how to take over the world and subjugate us to their will. ”

Koutarou shoves his shoulder playfully into the other boy’s side. “Shut up, dude. Owls are mad smart.”

“Did you know that some owls can’t even move their eyeballs independently because their eyes take up too much of their headspace to have their own muscles. They have to move their entire heads around to see stuff. That’s stupid as fuck, come on.”

“How the fuck do you even know that? I thought I was supposed to be the one with all of the Strigidae-related trivia.”

“It’s not like you have some kinda monopoly on owls.”

“...Did you seriously look up facts about owls just to roast me?”

They lapse into comfortable silence, buzzed, sleepy, and sitting too close together.

It is then that a star detaches itself from its distant fellows and streaks towards the ground, causing Koutarou to grab Kuroo’s hand--completely natural reflex, anyone would be excited by a shooting star--and shout excitedly, “Bro! Did you see that?”

Kuroo doesn’t let go of the other boy’s hand. “Heck yeah, dude! That was awesome. I’ve never seen one of those, like, in the wild. I knew it was a good idea to come out here tonight!”

“Did you make a wish?” (Koutarou had.)

(He isn’t going to mention it to anyone, though.)

(Especially not his friend.)

Kuroo meets his friend’s gaze with a trademark smirk, the left side of his mouth twitching. (Not that Koutarou knows which side of Kuroo’s mouth is more apt to twitch.) Unfalteringly, he says, “Eternal bromance with you, my dude.”

Koutarou wishes Akaashi were with him, because he cannot decipher the look on Kuroo’s face, although it’s unusual and somehow more vulnerable than it has any right to be. He tries to push down the confusion that he feels, and below that, the disappointment, gently untangling their fingers.

“I never doubted you, bro.”

(But he did. For one moment, when the stars aligned and a flash of radiance fell across his best friend’s face, he really thought things could be different.)

He avoids Kuroo’s texts and calls for the next week, although admitting that that’s what he’s doing is hard. Instead, he tells himself stubbornly that he’s focusing--not nursing any stupid hopes or dreams that had been crushed at camp.

On the third day of his moping, Akaashi asks, “Bokuto-san, is something wrong? You’ve been pretty quiet all week.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine!” Koutarou says, too heartily. “Just trying to get ready for entrance exams and stuff.”

Akaashi, angel that he is, doesn’t push it. 

\---

Tetsurou shakes his leg, drags a hand through his already messy hair, and taps his pencil against the chair. None of it helps. Finally, resignedly, he checks his phone. His inbox, aside from a few texts from Kenma, is empty. Tetsurou groans and places the offending object back on his desk. It is the week after training camp and Bokuto hasn’t contacted him once. Normally, a week of silence wouldn’t bother Tetsurou, but this is _Bokuto_ who is never silent, even when he’s reading. Always bouncing, always humming, always doing something distracting that draws Tetsurou in faster than it should be allowed to. Like a live wire, Bokuto thrums with constant energy.

And yet. Here he is, sitting pathetic and textless.

Feeling a flash of determination, Tetsurou picks up his phone again and grinds out a message about meeting for a snack sometime after school that week. He hopes it doesn’t sound too desperate, but doesn’t give himself time to think before hitting send and throwing his phone onto the bed, as far away as possible.

Hours later, as he’s reaching to turn out the light, his screen lights up with Bokuto’s reply.

\---

Koutarou has made it a point his whole life to avoid awkward situations. He’s good at it, too, always prepared to crack a joke, diffuse tension, or change the mood (often at his own expense). But until now, “awkward” has never even been part of his vocabulary with Kuroo. Kuroo is the one person who’s always been game, always been laughing, or at least always ready to share what’s eating him.

Until today.

“Um,” Koutarou begins eloquently, sliding the sesame seed canister back and forth between his hands. “I heard from Kenma that there’s this new game out now? I think it’s about zombies? Or an epidemic? Or maybe a zombie epidemic? I don’t know; I guess I forgot. But, uh, anyway, Kenma says it’s really good--have you tried it?”

Kuroo doesn’t stop stirring his noodles around as he grits out a noncommittal “No.”

“Well, uh, you wanna borrow it sometime this week and try it together?”

  
“Mm.”

At a loss for words, Koutarou lapses into uncomfortable silence, racking his brains for what he could have said between receiving Kuroo’s invitation and today to piss his friend off. “Listen, man, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, you know you can tell me anything, right? It’s weird seeing you all, like, quiet, you know?”

Kuroo looks up at that, or maybe he’s just now realized that his noodles have swollen to inedible proportions and is giving up the lost cause. “Uh. I guess...there’s something that’s kinda been bothering me….I mean…” Kuroo runs a hand through his already frankly deplorable bird’s nest before settling it on the back of his neck. “There’s this...someone...well, ok. Say you have a crush on someone, but you can’t figure out how they feel about you. What would you do?” He speaks slowly, deliberately, making steady eye contact with Koutarou throughout the entire, bewildering speech.

Koutarou is floored. Something comes to life in his stomach--butterflies? No, he decides, snakes, writhing and eating at something inexplicable that he can’t put a finger on. He brushes away the feeling before he can dwell on it and thinks hard. “I would...ask them? How they feel? I don’t know, dude, that’s never really been a problem for me. I’m bad at hiding my feelings, you know? But I haven’t even had a crush since junior high.” He laughs, wondering why it feels wrong. That’s the truth, isn’t it? This...thing, the noticing, the concern for his best friend--it’s not a crush, is it? Labeling it feels wrong, somehow. And besides, the whatever feelings he called crushes back in junior high never felt like this. Like dark chocolate, a little bitter, a little deeper than cliche notes of confession or late-night fantasies.

Kuroo drops his eyes again, hand scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess.”

\---

Hours later, fidgeting over his English textbook, Tetsurou groans out loud. He’s stupid in love with his stupid best friend _and_ stupidly stumped by stupid conjugations. It’s a bad night, which means only one thing.

“Kenma?”

“Yeah?” even through the tinny speaker of his cell phone, Tetsurou can hear what sounds vaguely like fake gunfire. The new game, he assumes. Bokuto sounded interested in that, maybe they really should borrow it….

“What do you want?” To the untrained ear, Kenma’s voice would sound as neutral as it always does, but Tetsurou can detect a hint of concern.

“It’s uh...you know.”

“Trouble with Bokuto?”

Tetsurou grunts his assent. “I asked him what he’d do if he had a crush on someone today, and he said he’d just _tell them_.”

“Well, he’s always been more straightforward than you.”

“Yeah, but who _actually_ does that? I mean, what’s the realistic advice here, Kenma?”

“How would I know?”

  
“I mean. Out of the two of us, you’re the one with a boyfriend.”

“Hinata’s not my boyfriend,” Kenma corrects sharply. “I just like playing him in volleyball. And Akaashi’s not interested, so you can give up on your fantasy of going on double dates with him and Bokuto.”

“Ok--fine. Shrimpy’s not your boyfriend. But that aside--what am I supposed to do?”

Kenma’s response takes a moment, preceded by the noise of gunfire and screaming. “Just do what Bokuto said--tell him. Honestly, you’re smarter than you act about everything else, so I don’t know why you’re being an idiot about this. Obviously you have to say something. Or at least stop complaining about it to me.”

Tetsurou lapses into thoughtful silence for a moment. His friend, as usual, is right. It isn’t fair to keep complaining about a situation that’s totally within his power to fix. But...where? When? How? And what does he do if Bokuto rejects him? He’d lose his friend forever, he’d….He shakes his head. Bokuto’s not like that. Bokuto’s forgiving, loving--he wouldn’t care, even if he didn’t reciprocate.

“So...theoretically,” begins Tetsurou hesitantly, breaking the relative silence (relative because of course, Kenma hasn’t put down his game the whole time). “If I were to say something...how do you think I should go about it?”

“The same way you do everything with him, I guess. Simply and stupidly.”

  
Tetsurou’s about to retort that he and Bokuto do not do stupid things, thank you very much, but then he closes his mouth. Kenma has a point. It’s never been complicated with Bokuto; he doesn’t plan to change that now.

\---

Saturday dawns hot and muggy, and Koutarou regrets agreeing to run the moment he leaves the air conditioning. Kuroo is waiting for him on the pavement out front.

“Bro,” whines Koutarou, making an effort to ignore how flushed his friend’s cheeks are, or how his dark hair sticks to his forehead in a way that is oddly endearing. “Let’s just skip today; it’s too hot. I just wanna melt….” To emphasize his point, he eases his way comically to the ground, landing with his cheek on the toe of Kuroo’s sneaker.

The other boy steps delicately out from beneath him. “Nah, man don’t be so lame. We gotta get in shape for that camp we’re doing next month. You don’t wanna be shown up by Shrimpy, right?”

“But I caaaan’t!” wails Koutarou, still glued to the baking cement.

Kuroo reaches under Koutarou and lifts him bodily by the armpits. As soon as he’s standing, Kuroo immediately wipes his hands on his shorts. “Ugh, gross. Did you even put on deodorant today?”

  
“You wish!” Koutarou leaps for his friend and forces him into a headlock, rubbing his arm obnoxiously in the other boy’s face. Kuroo tears free, squawking in outrage, and races for the end of the block, calling over his shoulder, “You’re disgusting, you know that, right?”

Koutarou just laughs, a wild, reckless sound, and chases after him.

They run five miles in the blistering heat, but it only feels like seconds.

\---

At the top of the last hill, Tetsurou finally pauses, doubled over, sweat dribbling down his back and matting his hair.

“Check out--this--view,” he pants, clutching the stitch in his side.

Below them, Tokyo spreads out like a toy city, glittering and flashing, the traffic congestion visible even from the hilltop. Beside Tetsurou, Bokuto watches, equally winded. They stand in companionable silence for a moment and then--

“Hey, remember when I said--no. Wait. Can I just...ah...Can I ask you something, man?” Tetsurou finishes, rather lamely.

“Of course, dude. What’s up?” Bokuto shoots back lazily, lacing his fingers behind his head.   
He’s used to his best friend’s fits and starts by now. Despite the cool facade that Kuroo displays to opposing teams--Fukurodani included--he’s never been one with words, so this isn’t too out of the ordinary.

“I...do you remember, like, last week when we hung out after school and I asked you that...thing about crushes?”

“Uh huh.” Bokuto thinks he knows where this is going, and is unprepared for the feeling that rises in his chest. It’s sickly and runny and wrenching, almost sliding down his throat.

“Well, I decided you were right. About the, um, telling part, I mean. I mean. You’re right, I just have to tell the person. How I feel. Because. Obviously. It could get really awkward otherwise! I mean. Look at Shrimpy and Kenma; they can barely see each other on the court! And gosh, that sucks because. You know. At training camp last year they became such, _such_ good friends, you know? And it’s a shame that Kenma won’t just _say_ something because God, I mean, if you’re gonna ruin a friendship either by confessing, or by just avoiding the problem, it may as well be by confessing, because the worst that could happen is that they reject you, but things are going downhill already and--”

“Ok, stop,” Bokuto finally cuts in, lowering his arms and crossing them instead. “If this is about your stupid crush on Kenma, just come out and say it! I mean, the two of you are close as balls, my guy, just tell him how you feel, he’ll be chill about it!”

Tetsurou is dumbfounded. He stands, for a moment, hands caught mid-gesture, mouth slightly agape. “Wha--? No! No, no, no, dude. This is so, like, _not_ about Kenma, that that’s actually funny. I was just talking about him because...well. It’s like I said, he and Shrimpy were really good friends like…” His eyes are so soft now, open and vulnerable, and a little bit hopeful, and he takes half a step towards Bokuto, running his tongue nervously over his bottom lip. “...like us.”

Another step. Now it is Bokuto’s turn to be dumbfounded, rooted to the spot. Tetsurou continues: “I don’t...I’m not gonna ever see Kenma like that, and for a long time, I thought I wouldn’t ever see _you_ like that, but...something’s changed and I _do_. This sounds so cliche, but I do see you...like that, like...I don’t know, I just...I like being with you and laughing with you and doing stupid things with you and I guess sometime I just realized that I would probably like kissing you, too. If you...wanted to. Some day. But. I get it if you don’t. Want to. Someday. I….Ugh, I’m just gonna stop talking now.”

For a moment, a tense, glittering moment, there is silence, save the sound of the Tokyo traffic below the hilltop. Bokuto feels strangely disconnected from the earth, from the noise and the wind and the boy standing next to him. All that registers is a floating feeling in his chest. Disbelief? Joy? A stranger--or maybe not-so-strange--mixture of the two. He turns as if in a dream to meet Kuroo’s gaze head on.

“You. Want to. Kiss...me? Sometime?” His voice sounds embarrassingly squeaky.

Tetsurou crosses his arms, trying to look tough while blushing to the roots of his hair. “Yeah? Maybe, dumbass. That’s what I just said.”

“Uh...yeah dude! This is awesome! I mean, like, so weird. Like I’ve kinda...had a crush on you, too? For the longest time? Like years? I mean….” Bokuto trails off, still ecstatic. He jumps, punches the air, runs circles around the hilltop. “God, I mean, I just can’t believe that _you_ like _me_. I thought I was gonna be friendzoned forever and I--” he interrupts himself, wheeling mid-lap to face Tetsurou again. There are stars in his eyes, so bright and golden that Tetsurou almost wants to look away. “Can I kiss you--” Bokuto’s voice lowers “--right _now?_ ”

Tetsurou fights hard to keep the stupid grin off his face, but he can’t help it; it crawls right back on. And so what if his affirmation sounds a little too enthusiastic; this is _Bokuto_. There’s no “too” anything with him. It’s one of the many things that Tetsurou likes (loves?) about his friend.

But Bokuto is calm and slow when he approaches Tetsurou, who stands stone-like on the grass. Bokuto walks forward one step at a time, until they are almost nose to nose, and then Tetsurou can feel the heat radiating from Bokuto’s chest, and then he can see the darker eyebrow hairs that have escaped Bokuto’s inexpert dye job, and then his eyes are drifting shut as their lips meet.

It is a soft kiss, chaste and slightly awkward, very sweet and everything Kuroo thought it would be. Neither of them open their mouths; the kiss is nothing--and everything--more than a brief, firm touch of lips.

Bokuto is, classically, the first to speak, and he says, with his trademark cocked head, “Was it supposed to be like that?”

  
“Like what?”

“It was awesome, but don’t people, like, move their heads and stuff?”

Tetsurou just laughs. “Wanna try again?”

He does. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading this disgusting self-indulgence <3


End file.
